Life of a girl in Iraq

 
I opened my eyes—my head felt like it was about to explode from the pain.
I tried to adjust my sitting position, realizing I was wearing a short red dress that showed my chest and thighs.

Why am I wearing this? I don’t remember putting it on!
And how did I even fall asleep? How did I end up in this room?
I don’t know...

I held my head in my hands, squeezing—nothing was coming back to me.

I glanced toward the edge of the mattress and saw a man lying there, his back turned to me.

I closed my eyes, unable to process what I was seeing.
Slowly, I forced myself to move, taking small, hesitant steps.

I need to see his face—who is this?!

I stood right in front of him, reached out my hand... and pulled the blanket off him.

I gasped, my hand flying to my throat.
I couldn’t take it anymore—I collapsed onto the bed, completely weak.

Tears streamed down my face, fear taking over.
I shook my head, refusing to believe it.
I need to snap out of this...

No, no, no—this can’t be real, I must’ve made a mistake with him.
No way… NO WAY!
No, I’d rather die than—

While I was sobbing and praying that what I was thinking wasn’t true...
The room door opened.
And he walked in.

These chains have ruled:
"Hands stained,

And after sins—
Only death or madness remains..."

"Papers won’t stay clean once ink spills on them."





"In One of Iraq’s Provinces..."
The blaring music in this disgusting place could never be drowned out.
And the men—no, the males—who leave their warm homes and families just to satisfy themselves with what’s here...
All under the label of "night girls."

Their eyes feast on the dancers’ bodies.
And I’m no different from them—because I am one of them.

I was swaying my head, painting my nails black.
Black—the color that never leaves me.
Everything reminds me of him.

I walked to the mirror, lining my lips with red.
My hair spilled over my bare shoulders,
and a hint of my chest peeked out.

I finished getting ready, studied my reflection, and smiled in satisfaction.
My innocent features didn’t belong here at all.
But maybe… I do fit in.

I opened the door, and one of the girls asked:
"You done?"
I nodded. "Yeah."
"Go ahead, I’ll be right behind you."
"Don’t be late."
"Got it."

She left me alone.

One last look at myself.
A sigh. Then I stepped out, heading to the hall.

The noise, the singer standing in the middle of us,
the money thrown at our feet.

The same men whose wives beg for scraps of their attention—
but with us, they’re generous.
Because in their eyes, we deserve this money.

I swayed to the singer’s voice under their hungry stares,
enduring their endless flirtations.

Then an older man, around fifty, caught my eye.
I smirked mockingly, leaned in, and whispered in his ear:
"Grandpa, your place is at Hajj, not a nightclub."

He gripped my waist, pulling me close.
Disgusting—even if he looked clean and well-off.
He bit his lip and said:
"Try this grandpa in bed first… then judge."

I shoved his hand away.
"Excuse me, but near-death isn’t my type."

I left him and kept dancing.
He signaled for me to come down.
I ignored him.

The night ended at sunrise.
Exhaustion ate at me—I just wanted a pillow to hug and sleep.
Four straight hours of dancing. My legs were done.

Back in the dressing room, the girls changed clothes,
all of us returning to empty homes.

Ruba wiped off her makeup and asked:
"What did that old creep want from you?"

I kicked off my heels, swapping them for comfy shoes.
"Nothing. Just his usual crap."

Ruba: "You going alone? Want a ride in my car?"
I laughed. "No, habibi. My watchdog’s waiting outside."

Ruba: "Ugh, fine. I only bought this car to drop you guys off anyway."
"God bless you—you’re too kind."



My phone rang. I checked the caller—Marsad. I knew he wanted me to come out.

I tied my hair into a ponytail, grabbed my bag, and waved goodbye to the girls.
"Alright, I'm out."

I walked down the hallway when suddenly—a hand grabbed mine.
I turned and saw him again. That old creep.

I rolled my eyes.
"You again?"
"Yeah, me."
I yanked my hand back and stepped away.
"What the hell are you doing here? Get lost before I call security and have them drag you out."

He reached for my hair, fingers brushing it as his eyes locked on my lips.
"How much for the night?"
"Not my job. Find someone else."
"But I want you."
"Go away, grandpa. You’re pushing it today."

He laughed.
"I really like you. Let’s go somewhere private."
"I said no. Stop begging."
"Don’t act all innocent now. You’re here, just like the rest of them. Give me what I want, and I’ll pay you big."

My phone rang again—Marsad.
I glared at the old man and spoke calmly.
"One word from me, and he’ll knock those rotten teeth out of your mouth. If you value your health, disappear."

The second I finished speaking, the coward vanished.

I stepped outside and found Marsad waiting on his bike, annoyed, his blue eyes sharp under the sun—his face red as a tomato.

I laughed at his expression.
Marsad: "Finally decided to grace us, huh? It’s almost noon. Any longer and I’d have left."

He got on, and I climbed behind him, wrapping my arms around his waist. I rested my head against his back and closed my eyes.
"Shut up, habibi. Don’t talk to me—not a single word. I’m exhausted."

We reached the house. He parked the bike, and I quickly unlocked the door and slipped inside.

Silence. Everyone was asleep.

I opened the bedroom door, tossed my bag aside, and kicked off my shoes.

Rahaf and Dhirgham were curled up together. I squeezed between them and pulled the blanket over us.



Marsad walked in and nudged my head.
Marsad: "Roro, you got 86k?"

I lifted my head, blinking at him.
Raya: "Yeah, why?"
Marsad: "Just hand it over. Don’t ask."
I pointed to my bag.
Raya: "Take 80, no more. Got it?"
Marsad: "Done. Love you."
Raya: "Love you too, idiot."

He kissed the corner of my lips.
Marsad: "Not enough. Get some rest—I’m heading out."
Raya: "Where?"
Marsad: "Slept two hours—that’s enough. Gonna go kill time since I’m wide awake."
Raya: "Watch the road."

He nodded, took the money from my bag, turned off the light, and left.

I hugged Rahaf and fell asleep.

———

I woke up in the afternoon to her voice—the one I’d recognize even in hell.
Saida: "Get up. Give me the money."

I pressed a hand to my throbbing head.
Raya: "Let me wake up first. It’s not like it’s flying away."
Saida: "Get. Up. Now. I want it."

I dragged myself to the bathroom, washed my face, and brushed my teeth.

Grabbed my bag to pull out the cash.

Empty.

I frowned.
Raya: "Where is it?!"




My mom turned to me and asked:
"What?"

I rummaged through my bag—nothing. Not even a quarter of what was supposed to be there.
I held up the empty bag right in front of her face.
Raya: "The money’s gone. I swear I had it this morning!"

Saida (Mom): "Oh, here we go—another one of your lies. Hand it over. These games don’t work on me."
Raya: "I swear it’s not there! You know I give you every dinar I make, every week, without fail. Not once have I been late. But it’s gone—what do you want me to do?!"

She eyed me with suspicion.
Saida: "You swallowed it or what?!"
Raya: "Of course not! It just… disappeared. I don’t know how!"
Saida: "You sure you got paid today?"
Raya: "Yes! Everyone got their share!"

A cold realization hit me—Marsad.
He was the last one who touched my bag.
No… he wouldn’t. Would he?

I shook off the thought.
Raya: "Just give me one day. I swear, by tomorrow, the money will be in your hands."
Saida: "I want to believe you… but I can’t."
Raya: "One. Day. I’ll figure it out."
Saida: "And if you don’t?"
Raya: "I will."
Saida: "On one condition."
Raya: "What?"
Saida: "You add 50,000 on top."

I nearly choked.
Raya: "Are you serious?! Where am I supposed to pull that from?! You think I’m a bank?! I’m dying from stress here!"
Saida: "Stop crying. You and your kind have apartments, cars, trips—God knows what else you’re hiding!"

I clenched my jaw, exhausted.
Raya: "If I had any of that, I wouldn’t be standing here!"
Saida: "Fine. You have till tomorrow. But if you lie… I’ll slit your throat."

She stormed out.

I grabbed my phone and called Marsad.
No answer.
I tried again. And again. Nothing.
I texted him:
"GET HERE NOW."
Delivered. But no reply.

I left it charging and went to cool off in the shower, my head pounding.

Later…
I threw on a red sports bra and tiny shorts, towel-dried my hair into a messy braid, and walked out.

Rahaf was in the kitchen.
Raya: "What’re you doing?"

She jumped at my voice.
Rahaf: "You scared me! Can’t even breathe in peace around here!"
Raya: "I’m starving."
Rahaf: "There’s leftovers. Eat."

I opened the pot on the stove—spinach stew.
I gagged.
Raya: "Ugh! You know I hate this!"
Rahaf: "Be grateful. It’s food."
Raya: "Make me something else. I’ll die of hunger!"
Rahaf: "Too busy. Do it yourself."
Raya: "You know I can’t cook!"
Rahaf: "Then learn! Or just shake a damn pan—you’re good at that!"
Raya: "Ugh, you’re insufferable."

She was whisking eggs and flour, throwing in random ingredients.
I grabbed a cucumber from the fridge and bit into it.
Raya: "What are you even making?"
She smirked.
Rahaf: "A cake."
Raya: "Since when do you bake? What’s the occasion?!"
She rolled her eyes.
Rahaf: "Dumbass… it’s your birthday. You’re turning twenty—time to grow up."




I waved my hand dismissively.
Raya: "Ugh, forget it. You know I hate anything to do with birthdays."

Rahaf slid the cake into the oven and washed her hands.
Rahaf: "Let it go. Even his bones are dust now—worms ate their fill. And you’re still blaming yourself?"

Raya: "It’s not that simple. I can’t forget what I did to him. The guilt’s heavier than my own hair."

Rahaf: "You were forced into it. Even he knew that."
Raya: "Doesn’t matter. I’m still the reason he’s dead."
Rahaf: "Stop drowning in it. It won’t change anything."

I stepped outside to wait. At dusk, I spotted Marsad’s bike pulling up. I marched into the alley.

He killed the engine the second he saw me.
Marsad: "What’s wrong?"
Raya: "Inside. Now. We need to talk."
Marsad: "That urgent, huh? You ambushed me in the street."
Raya: "Just spit it out, Marsad."
Marsad: "Gimme a sec. Let me park."

I went in first. He followed minutes later, splashing water on his face.
Marsad: "Alright, what?"



Raya: "When you opened my bag earlier… how much money did you see?"

His face froze for a split second—then denial.
Marsad: "Dunno. You said take 80k, so I did."
Raya: "So you only saw the 80?!"
Marsad: "Yeah."
Raya: "You’re sure?"
Marsad: "Swear to God. Why? You doubting me?"
Raya: "No, habibi. Just… thought maybe you grabbed it all by mistake."
Marsad: "Nah. Only took what you said."
Raya: "And you spent it already?"
Marsad: "Not a fils left."
Raya: "Of course not. You’re a walking wallet with a hole in it."
Marsad: "Let me live. We’re all dying anyway."

The "Gift"
I changed, grabbed my bag, and found the family eating in the living room.

Dhirgham patted the seat next to him. I shook my head.
Raya: "Not hungry. Thanks."
Rahaf: "Oh now you’re not hungry? After begging me to cook? Eat or starve."
Raya: "I’ll eat at work."
Rahaf: "Suit yourself. But hurry back—you better be here to cut the cake."
Raya: "If I can."
Rahaf: "Your whole life is there. The least you can do is show up for one night."
Raya: "Wow, so generous. Should I kneel in gratitude?"

I left, Marsad trailing behind.
Marsad: "Need a ride?"
Raya: "No. I want to walk alone."
Marsad: "Whatever."

Then he pulled a small box from his pocket.
Marsad: "Here."
Raya: "What’s this? A bomb?"
Marsad, grinning: "Nah. Just a birthday gift."

I opened it—a delicate silver bracelet.
Raya, smirking: "Real silver?"
Marsad: "Yeah. Saw it and thought… only your wrists deserve it."

I handed it back.
Raya: "Put it on me."

He clasped it around my wrist.
Marsad: "Told you. Fits only you."

The bracelet was smooth, with a strange bird-like symbol at the center. Beautiful, but… unfamiliar.

I hugged him tight.
Raya: "Thanks. But you didn’t have to. You being here is enough."
Marsad: "I know I’m a gift. But you deserve two."
Raya, laughing: "God, your ego could murder someone."
Marsad: "You’d die for these eyes, admit it."
Raya: "And the owner of those eyes?"
Marsad: "He’s already dead for you."
Raya: "Forced to love me?"
Marsad: "And grateful for it."

The Threat
At the club, Rubaa was styling my hair when she gasped.
Rubaa: "Oh! Almost forgot—a delivery guy left something for you."

I frowned.
Raya: "I didn’t order anything."
Rubaa: "Dunno. He just said, ‘Give this to Miss Riya.’" She winked. "Secret admirer?"

She handed me a small, wrapped box. The girls crowded around, dying of curiosity.
Raya: "No privacy, huh?"
Rubaa: "Be glad I didn’t open it first!"

I tore the wrapping—a doll.

But the moment I saw it, I jerked back.

Its face was scribbled over in red ink, like blood.
Rubaa: "What the—?!"

My hand flew to my chest.
Raya: "I—I don’t know…"

Rubaa grabbed the doll.
Rubaa: "Some sick joke. Ignore it."
Another girl: "Black magic?! Someone cursed you!"

Then Rubaa spotted a note.
Rubaa: "Wait—there’s writing! Tiny, but…" She squinted. "It’s a date: 5/23."

Raya: "That’s… today. My birthday."

Rubaa flipped the paper, then gasped.
Rubaa: "It says… ‘Because of you, he died.’"

The room exploded.
Girls: "WHO DIED?!"

I snatched the note and ripped it apart.
Raya: "NO ONE. It’s nothing."

But Rubaa wasn’t buying it.
Rubaa, furious: "Bullshit! It’s targeting you! Who the hell knows your birthday?!"

I forced a laugh.
Raya: "Relax. Just some creep messing with us."

She grabbed my shoulders, searching my eyes.
Rubaa: "Tell me the truth. Who did you kill?!"

I shoved past her, bolting for the door.

Her scream chased me:
"Raya! WHO DID YOU MURDER?!"

:) ........